


going through hell (keep going)

by shuttermutt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuttermutt/pseuds/shuttermutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern retelling of the story of Hades and Persephone.</p><p>or, What Happens to Old Gods in a New World?</p>
            </blockquote>





	going through hell (keep going)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern retelling/altering of the myth of Hades and Persephone. I've always thought that Persephone went to the Underworld of her own volition, schemed a way to stay with the seeds, and flourished as Hades' Queen. All the tales are of her brutality and dedication to the throne. When people would say her name it was with hushed reverence.
> 
> I've obviously played around with the Greek mythos and what the gods were able to do and what they would do in the modern age. There's also some traditional story telling elements mixed in. No Louis or Liam because I wasn't sure where to put them in (Niall was obvious) and by the time I was done, this had gotten out of control and I didn't have time to write them in (sorry!)
> 
> HUGE shoutout goes to [razz](http://vulcains.tumblr.com/) for agreeing to do an art trade/story swap with me. This is about a month and a half late, but you stuck with me and drew amazing [beautiful art](http://vulcains.tumblr.com/post/118763069920/a-zarry-modern-hades-persephone-au-the-gods-are) for this fic. Go look at it!!!! Tell her how beautiful it is!!!!
> 
> unbetaed because i'm trash and absolutely no smut (surprise surprise)

Being god of the Underworld isn’t a bad gig, Zayn thinks. Sure, not many people believe the Old Gods really exist anymore, and he hasn’t had any sacrifices in centuries, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need tithes to survive like other, weaker-willed gods. He’s been around for a long time and he’ll continue to be around for as long as mortals continue to die. 

He’s had a lot of names and a lot of faces in his time, but he likes the one he’s wearing now. The gods go through cycles just like the mortals do. Zayn has been born and died countless times since his creation. He finds it enjoyable to go through life wearing a mortal’s visage, watching as the world changes around him. He knows the other gods aren’t always fans of change, knows Zeus has roamed around in the same body since the late 1600s and that Hephaestus has slept since the fall of the Roman Empire instead of facing the world.

Currently he’s called Zayn Malik. He was born in 1993 to Trisha and Yaser Malik, two lovely people he really genuinely likes. He has three sisters whom he adores. He grew up in Bradford, which was certainly different from Ancient Greece, world famous high fashion model. It’s far more exposure than he usually likes, but fate must have been in a good mood when he was given his current form, and he’d gone with it when a scout approached him in the streets.

Times might have changed and things might be unimaginably different than when he was known to every mortal by name, but some things never change. Mortals still fear him, fear Death, more than anything else, at the end of all things, and they worship his youthful face, as if it might spare them from their own ends.

It’s been a long time since he’s actually been back to visit his kingdom for an extended stay, but he has an approximation of his domain on Earth, now. His flat in London has a linked portal in a linen closet to the Underworld, for him to escape to when he needs to be away from the loud, constant noise of humanity. He just enjoys being a part of the world too much to stay cramped in his Underworld for too long, watching over the miserable denizens of his rule, to stay away for very long.

He gets home late after a shoot, shedding his boots after he gets in the front door. Cerberus greets him with a happy sort of bark, tail wagging so hard her whole body moves with it. She’s a blue-point pit bull terrier puppy called Harley this time around, picked on a whim when Zayn was shaping her, and she’s always excited and eager when he gets home to greet her.

“Hey girl,” he says, bending down and scratching her behind her ear. “Have a good day? You ready for your walk?” 

Harley barks and wiggles her whole body in excitement and Zayn gets the leash from the hall closet. He puts his boots back on and they leave the apartment block and head towards the dog park that Zayn usually goes to in the evening to let Harley run around in.

This time around he’s managed a mortal body that exceeds all his expectations. He’s on the shorter-side of medium height, very slight and wiry in build. His hazel eyes are framed by long lashes and his black hair is shaved down at the sides, long on top. It’s apparently the latest trend for men. He’s also got a swirl of bleached blond in it after a recent photo shoot. He liked it enough to keep it for his own look.

Zayn is well-known for the high fashion brands he walks and his transcending beauty, but the mortals obsess over him because he’s one of the most private celebrities around. He uses his powers to shield himself from mortal gazes when he doesn’t want to be bothered—which is almost all of the time—and he doesn’t bother with most of the glitz and glamour of fame. There’s no point, honestly. Zayn is content to have fun at his day job, collect money and help his temporary family and spend time with his loyal hound. 

He’s found he really enjoys the modern day versions of the old stories the mortals have created through television and cinema and he spends a lot of time watching them, rather than doing anything else. Books have also been a constant source of delight for him, since the time of the first written epics, and now he has access to millions, billions of stories all at the click of a mouse. When he’s not working, he’s reading or watching movies and television or even trying his own hand at creating art. This time around he finds himself more creative than usual, wanting to create as opposed to just consuming. It’s different, entertaining. Zayn loathes when he’s not entertained.

He hasn’t seen another of the Old Gods in decades to do their part in keeping him amused. The last time he ran into anyone, it was Dionysus, at Woodstock and he was too blitzed out of his mind to recognise Zayn for what he truly was. Zayn had been wearing the body of a young woman at the time, but that wouldn’t have stopped Dionysus from recognising him if he was in his right state of mind. He knew on the spot who Dionysus was, of course. Nothing could keep them from knowing each other on sight, no matter what forms they held. After that lacklustre meeting, Zayn had been content not to seek any of his other old companions out.

There’s no need to, really. They run into each other when they do. It’s all up to fate and who’s currently wandering around the Earth at the same time. Since they aren’t making all the decisions for humanity anymore, they’re just as swept up in the currents of change as the mortals are. It amuses Zayn how sullen that fact makes the rest of his compatriots.

After the dog park, Zayn lets Harley pull him around the city aimlessly. There’s no need to fear getting in trouble for having a restricted breed, or that he’ll be harassed by fans or paparazzi. Anyone who sees him suddenly finds the memory a bit hazy, like static in their minds, and they can’t remember anything other than a pretty, non-descript face. They step aside and around him even though they can’t remember him, staying out of his way. It’s a useful trick.

He doesn’t try to stop her when Harley pulls him down the sidewalk like she knows exactly where she’s going; just taps out a cigarette and lights it. Harley isn’t the guardian of the Gates for no reason. She has great intuition. They keep walking for a few more blocks until the scent of fresh flowers catches Zayn’s attention. 

There’s a little boutique flower shop at the end of the street that seems to call to Zayn for some reason. Harley is pulling in that direction so Zayn follows. When they get closer, he sees that it’s called _Thyme to Bloom_. Clever.

The outside of the flower shop is covered in all sorts of blooms, some Zayn is surprised to see at this time of year flourishing in England. There’s someone standing outside, humming as he waters the plants with a metal watering can. He’s got a crown of flowers woven into his brown curls and as Zayn watches, the flowers subtly lean towards him, as if seeking more than just water. Like he’s nourishing them just by being near.

“Oh,” Zayn says softly as realisation sits in. The cigarette burns his finger tips but he doesn’t even notice it.

No matter what new life he starts in the mortal realms, no matter what time, he always has someone he’s searching for. He doesn’t always find her. Sometimes she’s died before she leaves childhood, or she’s on the other side of the world dying at the age of ninety-three. Sometimes they just never sync up properly. But Zayn is always looking for her.

Persephone.

Whenever they find each other, the connection is always instant. As much as the Classical legends liked to talk about abduction and forced contracts, Zayn has always loved Persephone, and he will continue to do so until the entirety of the cosmos are swallowed back into chaos. She always loves him, too. Always lights up as soon as they meet each other again. No matter what shape she takes—and it looks likes this time it’s the form of a young man about Zayn’s age—she’s always elated to see him.

Zayn lets Harley pull him the rest of the way over to the flower shop, watches as she barks and jumps at the man’s knees while he laughs and bends down to scratch her. He stands back up and looks at Zayn, one hand moving to resettle his flower crown. Carnations and poppies and a single pomegranate flower. Of course.

“Hello,” Zayn says. He finally ashes his cigarette, sees it’s burned down to the filter and flicks it away. Persephone’s eyes track the butt, frowning until Zayn stamps it out under his boot. 

“Hi,” he says back. His eyes, Persephone’s eyes, no matter what form she takes, are always the same striking green. Like the newest, healthiest growth of a plant lit up by the sparkling dew of a new morning. Zayn could melt into those eyes. “Can I help you?”

Zayn pauses. Blinks. Searches Persephone’s eyes. There doesn’t seem to be any recognition there. That’s impossible. There’s always immediate recognition between the gods, unless their minds have been altered in some way, by extreme drink or drugs. And this man is clearly sober and in his right mind.

“Don’t you know me?” Zayn asks. Harley is back at his side, looking between the two of them and whimpering. Persephone is always delighted to see their guardian hound, but other than the initial pat, this man doesn’t seem to care about Harley.

The man tilts his head to the side, frowning. “I’m sorry, should I? You look vaguely familiar.” He smiles finally and a dimple appears in his cheek. “A magazine, maybe? Are you a model? You certainly have the looks for it.”

“Harry? Harry, what are you doing out there?” a voice calls out from the shop. A woman comes into the doorway and as soon as her eyes lock with Zayn’s, they narrow. She’s got the same brown hair as Persephone, and a soft mousy face. “Oh. I’m sorry, we’re about to close, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Demeter. Of course. Where Persephone lives, Demeter is sure to lurk. She’s always been obsessive, can’t handle letting Persephone out of her sight. Terrified of Zayn showing up and taking Persephone away, as she always sees it.

“What did you do?” Zayn asks. Demeter recognised him as soon as she set eyes on him. But Persephone, Harry, doesn’t? 

Harry is frowning again and he looks confused. “Mum? I’m sorry, do you know him? He seems to know us.”

“You have no business being here, I suggest you leave,” Demeter says, voice clipped. “Harry, get in the shop please and count the register.”

“Mum—”

“Harry, now.”

Harry opens his mouth but Demeter sends him a sharp look so he shuts it. He looks at Zayn, curious, but does as he’s asked and goes into the shop. It leaves Zayn and Demeter together. Harley starts growling and Demeter spares her an imperious look. It sits strangely on her mousy features. She looks more like a middle class suburban mum than the goddess who has hated Zayn for centuries.

“You can’t have my Persephone,” she hisses. “He’s safe with me, and that’s where he’ll stay. You’ll not steal him away again.”

“You did something to him, didn’t you?” Zayn asks. “Why doesn’t he recognise me? What did you do?”

Demeter smiles, and it’s as wicked and cruel as a being who would withhold growth and prosperity for half a year just because her daughter fell in love and left would look. “You’ll never find out. Now leave before I make the ground swallow you whole.”

-

“She’s always hated me,” Zayn says sadly. He’s got his head pressed against the back of the couch and a slightly warm can of beer in his hand. Harley whines and puts her head on his thigh, looking up at him beseechingly until he strokes her ears.

He’s been in his flat for the better part of three hours, moaning about and contemplating what Demeter has done.

“You did kidnap her daughter and then trick her into eating from your realm and being forced to come back three months a year for eternity,” Niall drawls. He’s two cans in and he’s got a plate of chips resting on his knee. There’s a game playing on the telly that Zayn doesn’t care about but Niall is particularly invested in.

“False,” Zayn tells him. “Lies. Spread by Demeter.”

Niall snorts and stuffs a whole handful of chips in his mouth. He’s a son of Apollo, or a grandson, Zayn can never remember. It might be less than that. Enough blood that he glows like sunshine when he’s happy, and he has the ability to make others feel brighter, but he’s not got any actual powers. Zayn met him in a pub, could see the golden blood in his veins, and they’ve been friends since.

“So what happened?”

“I met Persephone in a field. One of my souls escaped, somehow, and I was trying to find it. I happened upon her and we had a lovely conversation. I kept coming back to converse with her, day after day. Of course I knew she was Demeter’s daughter, how could she not be? All the poets spoke of her beauty. When I asked her to come to the Underworld with me, she agreed. She seemed just as interested in me as I was in her. How was I supposed to know her mother would curse the Earth to be fallow and barren until the rest of the gods were forced to beg Persephone to return? We both came up with the plan for the pomegranate seeds. I never tricked her. But once Demeter got Persephone back, she told all the gods I’d abducted her and tricked her into marriage, somehow. And suddenly I was the bad guy.”

Zayn covers his face with his hands, ignores Harley reaching up to lick his fingers. “Through all that, Persephone kept coming back. Year after year. Winter would descend on the Earth as she came back to me. She was my queen and we loved one another. When we moved into mortal forms, we continued to find another and come together again and again. What could Demeter have done to disrupt that? Gods always recognise gods when they meet, no matter what their form. That’s how it works.”

Niall shrugs and finally looks away from the telly. “She could curse the whole Earth to basically die, mate. Maybe she’s picked up a few things over the centuries. Managed to block Persephone from knowing who she truly is? Did this Harry fellow seem like he knew he was the incarnation of a goddess?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says. He groans loudly and Harley whines again. “The flowers bowed to him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Maybe that’s the norm, for him. Maybe he knows he’s Persephone, he just doesn’t know who I am.”

“But if he knew he was Persephone, he would know you would be coming eventually, right?” Niall licks the salt from his fingers.

“Doesn’t always work out that we find each other,” Zayn explains. “Mortal timelines are always so fragile. Anything could happen to cause us not to meet in our current lifetimes. Just because we usually do doesn’t mean we always will.”

Niall waves a hand. “That’s why I don’t bother with all that nonsense. I’ll keep me one human mortal lifetime, thank you very much. No need to worry about what’ll happen next time.”

“Why am I even friends with you? You’re not helpful at all.”

“Dunno, mate.”

Zayn groans again.

-

Sometimes, Zayn goes whole centuries without seeing another of the pantheon. Sometimes he surrounds himself with his fellow gods, for old time’s sake. He almost always knows a child of a god or two. There are so many wandering around the earth, spreading their lineage thin. Zayn has met a few of his own that are so far removed from his original mortal children that his heritage is like a black dot in their veins. 

Currently, Zayn has Niall, the child of Apollo. He’s got Demeter and Persephone, now. He’s even got Athena. Surprisingly. Sometimes Athena can’t stand to be around him. But right now, she’s one of his closest friends. Usually she doesn’t bother with things she thinks are frivolous, but apparently fashion has caught her eye this time around. Zayn didn’t even influence her decision—she was already a stylist before he got his first contract.

“Caroline,” Zayn says as he enters the room. He’s only five minutes late, which is basically a record for him. Caroline doesn’t seem impressed.

“Malik. Will you hurry your skinny little arse over here please? You were supposed to be in wardrobe an hour ago.” Caroline has a fiery frown on her face, but Zayn knows she’s actually amused. 

“Whatever you command,” Zayn says. He gives her a little bow to which Caroline raises her eyebrows, clearly not buying it. 

It’s just them in the dressing room, so she doesn’t bother to beat around the bush. “Spill it. You’re early, for once, and your skin is twitching like there’s ants biting. What’s going on?”

“Can’t I just be excited to work?” Zayn asks. “Maybe I was hoping you’d have more pictures of my goddaughter for me to look at.”

They both find it entertaining how mortals obsessed over whether or not Athena was a virgin. Like it mattered. Regardless, she tends to have children with men who don’t care to be around, and this time she’s even let Zayn act in a role that seems somewhat appropriate for them. 

Caroline waves a hand. “Piss off. Either tell me or don’t, I don’t care either way.”

“Do you know if someone could alter us?” he asks instead. When Caroline frowns, he continues. “Like, when we were born into our next mortal form. Is there a way to disrupt the flow of memories or knowledge about what we are?”

“Why are you asking? That’s more esoteric than you tend to get.”

Zayn gnaws on his lip until she gives him a sharp look. It’ll make the makeup artist titter if he’s got a chapped mouth. “I found Persephone.”

“Oh.” Caroline’s face clears up. “That’s good, right?”

“There’s something wrong, though. Demeter did something. Persephone didn’t recognise me, didn’t know what I was. I think Demeter...altered his memory, or something. Blocked him from inheriting his godhood.”

Caroline bites her thumb nail, brow furrowed. “Demeter’s always been different. She bases her lives off Persephone’s. We all choose whether or not to re-enter the mortal cycle after we die, and Persephone always does. So Demeter follows. She doesn’t allow them to be separate. I myself have always thought that a tad obsessive, but what do I know? I’m no Hera.”

They both share a little laugh over that. Last Zayn heard, Hera was skulking around Egypt, making sure Zeus wasn’t taking more mortal lovers. That fixation has never broken, no matter how many long years pass.

“Persephone really didn’t recognise you?” Caroline asks. 

Zayn shakes his head. “No. His name is Harry, this time around. He and Demeter run a florist and nursery shop. Demeter knew exactly who I was, but Harry just thought I was someone who might know his mum. No recognition.”

Caroline tuts. “Well, I don’t know of anything off hand, but I can ask around. Give me a bit. For now go put on your clothes and head over to makeup. They’re waiting on you.”

“‘Course.” Zayn pecks Caroline on the cheek and obeys her orders and tries not to worry too much.

-

Zayn finds his way back to _Thyme to Bloom_ without even really trying. He waits until he knows Demeter is gone to step inside the shop, looking around curiously. Just as he suspected, there are species that would usually wilt and die in the English climate that are flourishing quite happily.

Harry is behind the counter. Unsurprisingly, he has another crown of flowers woven into his curls and he eyes Zayn suspiciously. There’s a creeper of honeysuckle twined around his finger that he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Mum said if I saw you again, I was to call the police,” Harry says. He doesn’t make a move to do it, though. Just continues to stare at Zayn like he’s a puzzle to be solved. “She wouldn’t tell me why, though. Or even how she knew you.”

Zayn hums thoughtfully and strokes the leaf of a mint plant dozing happily in the window. He’s been able to connect with plants easier since he first met Persephone, but he hasn’t felt their emotions in this way for a long time. Just being near Harry is awakening in Zayn things he hasn’t felt in so long.

“So why would my mum know super famous model Zayn Malik?” Harry asks. “As far as I knew, she’s never been into high fashion, and it’s not like we go to London Fashion Week or anything. But you both seemed to know each other. How is that?”

“You’ve got a lot of questions,” Zayn says instead of answering. He has no clue what Demeter has done to Harry’s mind or memories, if she’s tampered with the godhood that’s supposed to have already blossomed in him.

“That tends to happen when your mum bans you from ever again speaking to a celebrity you just met,” Harry says back. There’s a slight edge to his voice, but he mostly still seems curious. More interested in getting answers than in being angry. “That was the first time we met, right? Only, it feels like I’ve seen you before. Not just in advertisements. But like we’ve known each other for a while.”

Zayn smiles. “Did you talk to your mum?”

“She just said I was being silly. Déjà vu or something.”

“Or something,” Zayn murmurs. Harry’s eyes narrow like he picked up on it and wants to say something, so Zayn cuts him off before he can. “I like flowers. Always thought they were lovely. Maybe I can get your number, we can talk about them sometime?”

Harry pulls at his bottom lip with his fingers, watches Zayn for a long time. “That might not be the best idea,” he says finally. 

Zayn pulls out a business card with his mobile already written on the back. “In case you change your mind, then,” he says easily as he puts it on the counter. It’s hard not to just blurt out what he knows, explain to Harry what he really is, what he is to _Zayn_. But Zayn can wait.

He’s always been a patient man.

-

His patience is rewarded three nights later when a text comes in at around six. Zayn was in the section of his flat that functioned as a portal to the Underworld, just making sure everything was okay. He’d fixed it so that he’d have service even when he was technically in another realm. Technology didn’t exactly like being mixed with magic, but Zayn didn’t want to have to go without.

 _Mum says you’re dangerous_ ,

is what the text says. Another one comes pretty quickly after.

_I googled you, but unless you’ve got an amazing PR team, it doesn’t seem like you’ve ever done a bad thing in your life._

Zayn saves the number under a new contact and tries not to smile too hard as he makes his way back to his flat proper. He flops onto the bed and pushes Harley’s head away from his face when she tries to investigate what he’s doing. 

_I once stole a candy bar from the local off-license, but I felt so bad I returned it and paid for it. I was also eight._

His phone starts ringing in his hand and Zayn answers with a smile.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to talk to me.”

Harry laughs. “I said my mum said you were dangerous. She wouldn’t tell me why, so I have to figure it out for myself.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Maybe Zayn will be able to figure out what’s going on after all.

-

“So you definitely agree with me then!” Harry shouts triumphantly. 

Zayn laughs and shakes his head, ignores the way Niall is rolling his eyes across the living room. “Definitely not. I have no clue where you got that conclusion from.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He can hear Harry’s pout over the phone.

They’ve talked almost every day for a week and it’s different. New and exciting. Zayn’s fallen in love with people before, with mortals, but he’s always held something back for Persephone. Harry _is_ Persephone, but he doesn’t remember, so Zayn has had to get to know him as Harry Styles, mortal who doesn’t know he’s the incarnation of a goddess. It’s frustrating and invigorating and eye-opening all at once. Harry sees the world in ways Persephone never has before, simply because he thinks that this is his one and only chance at life. He cherishes it.

“Why don’t ya just invite him over? Suck face like I know you’re dying to,” Niall says at top volume.

Zayn throws the crust of his pizza at Niall’s head and fist pumps when it leaves a greasy stain on his cheek. “Shove off,” he mumbles. He hopes Harry didn’t hear that. 

“Why _haven’t_ you invited me ‘round?” Harry asks softly. 

“Well.” Zayn could play it off, make a joke that he knows Harry will laugh at. But he strangely doesn’t want to. He wants to be honest. Something about Harry compels him to want to be. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to. We’ve had a few good chats, but your mum did tell you I was a dangerous person you should never be around.”

Harry scoffs. “Sure, but my mum still hasn’t explained herself to me about it, just goes on about how bad you are and how much she doesn’t want me to even think about you. But that’s not right. She can’t tell me how to live my life and then not give me an explanation as to why she wants it that way.”

Zayn has learned how important fairness is to Harry. How important it is to him to be kind and nice and do the right thing, no matter how hard that is. It makes Zayn want to do better, somehow. Be a better person, even though technically Zayn _isn’t_ a person. It’s confusing.

“Do you want to come over?” Zayn asks softly. He can see Niall making a face from the corner of his eye, but he flips him the bird and ignores him.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

-

For some reason, Zayn gets...nervous, to see Harry. To have Harry in his home for the first time. Persephone has seen everything from the Underworld to the penthouse suite of the tallest high rise in New York to the worst slums in São Paulo. But Harry has never seen where Zayn lives, and he wants to impress him.

Harry sits on the couch and watches Zayn cleaning and moving things until everything looks perfectly in place. She doesn’t seem to understand what Zayn’s doing, or why, since Zayn never bothers with cleaning. He can just banish the things that bother him.

He made Niall leave his flat when he couldn’t stop laughing at Zayn’s face after he got off the phone with Harry. It’s not his fault he feels this weird mix of excited and nervous. It’s his human body’s weird chemistry. No matter how many times he tells himself it’s not actually a big deal, his hands still sweat and he feels the need to pee. 

The door buzzes and Zayn actually jumps, startled. 

“Zayn? It’s Harry. Can you buzz me up?” Harry asks, voice fuzzy over the intercom. 

Zayn hits the proper button and stands at the door anxiously waiting. It takes Harry a few minutes to get from the front door to the lobby to the bank of elevators and up to Zayn’s flat. He opens the door before Harry even has the chance to knock and they stare at each other. 

“No flowers?” Zayn asks. It’s the first thing that popped into his head and he blurts it before he can question whether it’s a good idea or not. There’s no crown of flowers woven in Harry’s curls this time. Zayn thought it was like his signature look or something.

Harry reaches up to touch his hair as if on instinct. “No, not today.” He unbuttons his jacket and reveals an almost-sheer shirt with a bold floral print that makes Zayn smile. “Not on my head, anyway.”

He’s wearing his sheer floral shirt and tight black jeans that show off the shape of his thighs. Zayn likes it. He’s never cared what forms his lovers possess, but he likes Harry’s quite a bit. Zayn wore something fairly similar, tight dark jeans and a shirt that reads _Cool Kids Don’t Dance_ and if the way Harry is looking at him says anything, he appreciates the way Zayn looks as well.

“Hi,” Harry says, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi, come in,” Zayn tells him, moving and ushering him in. This all feels so awkward and forced, Zayn has no clue how he should act. It’s not like him at all.

“Thanks for inviting me over, even though your friend practically forced you to.” Harry knows about Niall, Zayn told him the details about their friendship, minus Niall’s genealogy

Zayn leads Harry into the living room, watches him look around and take everything in and pat Harley on the head when she whines and wiggles his way.

“You do quite well for yourself, don’t you?” Harry asks. He’s gazing at a marble bust that Zayn has always managed to procure no matter what life he’s leading. It’s ancient, from around the fall of the Roman Empire. Zayn used to know the sculptor, but her name has been lost to time. It’s worth money based on age alone, but not enough that museums or art thieves would take an interest when it goes up for sale. Just private collectors, like Zayn.

“I do well enough.”

“Who is she?”

Zayn looks at the bust. The sculptor managed to get the exact curl of Persephone’s hair tumbling down her shoulders, was able to make the cloth over her chest look like real silk. The flowers are so life-like Zayn is surprised they’re not reaching for Harry.

“A myth,” Zayn says after a quiet moment has passed.

Harry hums in reply, but Zayn notices how he doesn’t look away from the bust immediately. It stirs a faint sense of hope in the depths of Zayn’s soul.

“I’m glad you came,” Zayn says. Harry settles down on the couch next to Zayn, looks him over curiously. Zayn hasn’t gone back to the flower shop since they started texting and calling each other, so it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Not that Zayn could ever forget any detail of Harry’s appearance. It feels like they’re seared directly into Zayn’s brain.

“Me, too,” Harry says easily. “As much as it would kill my mum to hear, I really like you. You don’t seem like the crazed lunatic she tries to paint you as. I’m not sure why you’re so interested in a nobody like me, but I’m glad.”

Zayn reaches out to touch Harry’s hand, tries not to imagine that he feels a spark when their skin brushes. “You’re not a nobody. Not to me,” he says softly, earnestly.

“Why?” 

Harry is looking at him so intently, leaning in almost as he searches Zayn’s eyes. They’re close, closer than Zayn expected them to be, almost close enough to kiss. Zayn can’t help but look down at Harry’s mouth, his soft pink lips just begging to be touched. Zayn can feel his heart beating faster in his chest, the sweat beading at his hairline. 

“Harry, I—”

The door flies open and cracks against the wall, sending them both shooting up. “Zayn! I figured it out! I know what she did!” Caroline shouts as she strides in, Brooklyn seated on her hip. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Harry and Zayn standing by the couch, staring at her in shock. “Oh. You have company. I. Probably should have called.”

Brooklyn claps her hands and then holds them out to Zayn and it’s automatic to go to her and heft her up, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Yes, you should have,” Zayn says.

The moment is broken. Zayn has no clue what he was about to say, about to confess to Harry, but Caroline has ruined the whole thing. Goddesses always did have lousy timing. 

“Caroline, this is Harry. Harry, Caroline and her daughter Brooklyn. Caroline is my stylist and Brooklyn is my goddaughter.” 

Harry moves to shake Caroline’s hand, then hovers over Zayn’s shoulder, making delighted faces at Brooklyn. “Well hello there,” he says softly. “Aren’t you the cutest baby I’ve ever seen?” He looks between Caroline and Zayn. “Can I hold her? Give you two a moment?”

“Of course, sure,” Caroline says. She waves Zayn to give Brooklyn to Harry and the two of them walk to Zayn’s bedroom while Harry coos at the baby. “Sorry,” she whispers as soon as they’ve got the door closed. “I didn’t know you’d have someone here, especially this someone.” She looks at him suspiciously. “Is that why you’ve been in a good mood all week? Been getting the love of a good goddess?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No. This is the first time he’s been over here. It was sort of an accident. I didn’t mean to keep contacting him until we figured out what was going on, but we just get along so well, I couldn’t help it.”

“Mmmm.” Caroline clearly doesn’t believe him, but she just waves her hand and doesn’t comment. “I know what Demeter did. Took a bit of digging, but a few people owed me some favours. Which you now owe, by the way. I had to go to some gross places I don’t usually like to go.”

“Of course.”

“Demeter bargained with the Fates,” Caroline says. 

It’s not what Zayn was expecting and he’s honestly shocked. He’s never once needed anything so badly he decided to bring the Moirae into it. They’re too powerful, too flippant about the opinions of deities. Asking them for things usually costs far too much for anyone to be willing to pay the price.

“What did she give them?” Zayn asks.

Caroline shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe her next mortal life? Maybe a fucking cheesecake recipe, how would I know? Those three hags wouldn’t tell me even if I was Gaea herself. They play by their own rules. But Demeter must have offered them something they liked, because they altered Persephone’s string.” She sits down on Zayn’s bed and assumes what Zayn knows is her lecture face. 

“Gods have different strings than mortals of course. You know that. When we’re in our true forms, in our own Realms, the Fates can’t touch our strings. But when we assume the mortal form and take on mortal lives, they control it. They can’t touch our souls, our godhood, but they can snuff out our mortal lives as they see fit. When one string is cut, another one is strung and we start the cycle again if that’s what we choose.

“Usually, our strings are unaltered, whether we’re in our true forms or mortal ones. But there is a moment, between one severing and the next stringing, where things can be...changed. The Fates put a block on Persephone’s memories when she was born again. She would live her life with Demeter by her side, and when she died, she would be reborn again. But once she dies from this life, the block will become permanent. She won’t ever remember who she is, no matter what form she takes, or how many times she is reborn. I bet my left tit Demeter decided it was better for Persephone to be mortal a thousand lifetimes than to ever be your bride again.”

Zayn sits down heavily in the armchair that occupies the corner of the room across from the bed, stunned. He has no clue what to say. No response. Demeter altered Persephone to that extent? She hates Zayn that much?

“Is there any way to break the block?” Zayn asks. He runs his fingers through his hair, wishes he’d thought to bring Harley with them instead of leaving her with Harry.

Caroline shrugs again. “Fates wouldn’t tell me how to reverse it. Just said Persephone’s true self would either break out or slumber for eternity. Seems like a shit thing to agree to do to a god, though. Makes you wonder what they’re planning for the rest of us.” She stands up and goes over to Zayn, cups his cheek. “I know it seems impossible, but we’ve seen impossible things done since the beginning of time. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.” She kisses his forehead and leaves.

He can hear her talking to Harry, and then the front door opening and shutting. He’s not surprised when Harry comes to his room a few seconds later, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asks. “You were in here a while, and Caroline said I should come kiss you better?”

Zayn chuckles, but it sounds a bit wrong. “Sorry, she was just telling me about a family thing.”

Harry hovers in the doorway. “I can leave, if you need space?”

“You should stay. If you want. I could use the company.”

A look of determination crosses Harry’s face and he nods, comes into the room and plops himself down on Zayn’s lap. It’s not exactly comfortable—he’s roughly the same weight as Zayn even though he’s lankier—but something about the contact is comforting. He leans his head on Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn’s arms go around his waist and they sit together in silence.

-

Somehow, even though just the thought of Harry makes Zayn feel anxious, they manage to spend more time together than apart. If Harry isn’t texting or calling him, he’s at Zayn’s flat, eating his food, watching his telly, laughing with his Niall.

“Doesn’t your mum wonder where you are?” Niall asks one night over Thai. There’s a cooking programme on which Niall usually won’t tolerate watching on a Friday night, but Harry likes them and Harry usually gets what he likes. Zayn has teased Niall about spoiling him just as much as Zayn does.

Harry doesn’t question Niall knowing about his situation with his mum. He just shrugs and watches Mary Berry take a soufflé out of the oven. “I’m not actually a child. I’m allowed to have a life my mum isn’t privy to.”

Zayn knows Harry has been fielding phone calls and texts from his mum. It makes something warm spread through Zayn’s chest, knowing Harry likes him enough to defy his mother. It means even more than Harry realises it does.

Since the day Caroline told Zayn about the Fate’s intervention, he and Harry haven’t really done anything as blatant as sitting in each other’s laps. They’ve held hands while watching movies and Zayn has learned how Harry likes having his curls played with. They’ve curled together on the couch, both reading a different book, but they haven’t kissed, and they certainly haven’t fucked.

Zayn doesn’t know if he should confess how he feels about Harry. If that would push Harry closer or farther away from his true self. Zayn doesn’t want to jeopardise anything. What if Harry dies tomorrow and that’s it? Zayn’s Persephone is gone forever and always, unless the Fates decide it otherwise, and who knows if they ever would?

There’s a chance the uncertainty has caused Zayn’s frail human body to develop ulcers. He wouldn’t be surprised. He hasn’t had to worry about something so constantly since he was waiting for his little brother to free him from the prison of their father’s body.

Harry snaps him out of his mental contemplation by flicking blond end of his hair out of his eyes. “What’s got that pretty face so creased up?” he asks, poking Zayn’s forehead.

Zayn smiles and bats Harry’s fingers away, grabbing them to hold onto until Harry laughs. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he says. “Just thinking about my next spread.”

Niall gives him a look over Harry’s shoulder. It’s much more serious than Niall usually gets, more concerned than Zayn knew he got. “Zayner’s never one to worry over much about important things,” he says to Harry, going for reassuring.

Harry rolls his eyes and grins, tugging on Zayn’s hand until he moves closer on the sofa so Harry can bury himself under Zayn’s arm. “If you say so.” He turns back to the television and Zayn trades another look with Niall over his head.

-

“Do you think every star has a story?”

Zayn turns his head to look at Harry. A blade of damp grass tickles his ear but he ignores it to focus on Harry lying on the ground next to him, looking up at the night sky. The flowers in his crown look tired but they’re still holding their form. He can see a few daffodil trying to inconspicuously tuck themselves into Harry’s pocket.

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks.

Harry finally turns to look at him, eyes so green. Zayn sees the stars reflected in them. “Constellations have stories, and they’re made up of stars, so those individual stars should have stories, right?”

“The constellation Pleiades is made up of the seven daughters of Atlas. Six of the daughters wed immortals and shine brightly in the sky. The seventh was so ashamed of her mortal husband she hid her face and faded away from human sight,” Zayn says, the memory appearing before him like a picture.

“What was her name?” Harry asks in a whisper, like someone is listening to them and he has to keep quiet. Zayn wonders if the stars are listening in, knows how nosy some of them can be when they hear their names spoken.

“Merope. Her name is Merope.”

-

Zayn wakes up and stretches, frowning when he feels the cool side of the bed that should be occupied by someone else. He turns and frowns harder at the sheets, even though he knew Harry wouldn’t be there.

“Harry?” he calls out. The door is open and there’s a faint light from what must be the kitchen. He gets out of bed and leaves his room, following the light. Harry is right where Zayn thought he would be, sitting at the island with his back to Zayn. “Harry?”

Harry turns and his hands and mouth are covered in red. There’s a pomegranate in his hand, dripping juice everywhere. The juice is sticky and thick, though, more like blood. He smiles at Zayn, teeth stained red, and holds out the half-eaten fruit. 

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Zayn startles awake, gasping for breath. He looks to the side and Harry is still there, chest rising, little snores filling the room. Zayn settles back on the bed and tries to get his heart back under control.

-

“There’s no way it’s that easy, is it?” Zayn asks Caroline. He’s got a cool compress across his eyes to help with puffiness so he can’t see her reaction.

“What, making him eat from the fruit of the dead to regain his godhood?” Caroline snorts. “Sounded more like a warning than instructions. If you don’t fix it, you’re going to lose him forever.”

Zayn lifts the corner of the compress and looks at Caroline. She looks perfectly serious. “You think so?”

Caroline shrugs. “Mortals die so quickly. Who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

-

Zayn goes to _Thyme to Bloom_ when he knows Harry won’t be there. He knows Harry’s mum, Anne, Demeter, will be working the counter alone. He waits until there are no customers before entering.

“Hello, welcome to—” Anne cuts herself off and narrows her eyes at Zayn. “Why are you here. I told you to never come back.”

“I know what you did,” Zayn says. “To Harry. Why he doesn’t know me, why he just thinks he’s a regular mortal.”

Anne’s cheeks go pale and Zayn isn’t sure if it’s from fear or fury. “I don’t care what you know. You can’t change it. You’ll never get your clutches on my child ever again,” she whispers.

“You would sacrifice his essence just so Persephone never chooses me again?” he asks.

“Yes.” Anne lifts her chin in the same stubborn way Harry does when he’s arguing about something and thinks he’s right. It’s the only resemblance Zayn can see between the two of them, other than physically. There’s nothing left of the ethereal goddess Zayn used to know. “Persephone will sleep forever and she’ll never have to suffer with you again.”

This Demeter must have gone mad as the centuries passed and the Earth was changed and polluted and damaged. That has to be the reason she’s doing this. That she’s chosen her own selfish desires above her child’s identity.

Zayn shakes his head and leaves. He has nothing left to say to her.

-

“Are we dating?” Harry asks from the stove. He’s making dinner, some specialty he convinced Zayn would change his life. Zayn gave in, of course. He always does.

Zayn hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked you and you haven’t asked me.”

Harry turns to face him just to roll his eyes. “I stay over all the time. We sleep in the same bed. Your friends like me.”

“We’ve never kissed or had sex or discussed it,” Zayn counters.

“Dating is more than just sex. You tell me about your day, I tell you about my dreams. That seems like dating to me.”

Zayn smiles. “Sounds like dating to me, too.”

-

Zayn grunts when the paper hits him in the face. “Thanks,” he grumbles. He hasn’t showered yet, hasn’t gotten out of his sweats all day. There isn’t a point if he doesn’t have to leave the flat. Not with how morose he’s been feeling lately. “Don’t even know why I gave you a key.”

“‘Course you do,” Niall says cheerfully. He settles himself onto the sofa across from Zayn. “Still haven’t fixed the whole Harry situation yet, have you?”

Harry is out at the grocery store, getting the essentials that Zayn never bothered with, apparently. There’s signs of him all over the flat, though. Boots kicked off by the door, scarves draped over the lamp. Harry’s practically moved in.

“Obviously,” Zayn snaps. 

Niall just raises his hands. “Don’t chew my head off, I’m not the one who fucked with Harry’s heart or whatever. Wouldn’t even know how to go about doing that.”

“I know.” Zayn heaves a sigh. “It’s just so stupid. I don’t know what to do to fix this and every day I worry it’s our last. What if the Fates made a deal with Demeter that Harry would die before he turned twenty-two or something? What if this is all the time I have left with him forever?”

“Dunno, mate,” Niall says sympathetically. “There’s nothing in those myths of yours like this to tell you what to do? How to save your true love from the evil baddie?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’ve gone over everything, every story. Plus all the stories Caroline knows. Nothing is like this. I don’t know what to do.” 

“I’m sorry, Zayn.” Niall gets up and claps Zayn on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. I know you will. Prince Charming always gets the Princess, right?”

-

Zayn has trouble sleeping that night. Harry is curled up at his side, snoring softly, fingers clutched in Zayn’s shirt. Something is bothering Zayn. It isn’t the noise Harry’s making, Zayn’s used to that by now. It’s not the soft patter of Harley’s claws against the tile in the hallway. It’s not even the lark that’s decided to set up shop outside his window to chatter and sing.

It’s something Niall said. The bit about Princes and true love.

He’s been focusing on the Greek mythos, the one he lived through and helped to create, but was he supposed to be looking elsewhere? How do Princes save their true loves?

It can’t be that simple, though. There’s no way.

But the Fates have always had an off sense of humour. They’ve always had their own agendas.

Zayn nudges Harry until he blinks and squints at Zayn. “Whu?” he mumbles, smacking his lips together. 

“True love’s first kiss,” Zayn whispers. It’s so stupid.

Harry’s whole face scrunches up in confusion. “Zayn?”

Zayn leans in and presses his mouth to Harry’s, keeps his eyes open because it’s too important a moment to shut them. The kiss tastes sweet and tart and red.

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut as soon as Zayn’s lips touch his own. He takes a deep breath when Zayn pulls away and his eyes flutter open again. They go wide as soon as they focus on Zayn.

“Oh,” he says softly, realisation dawning on his face.

Zayn laughs.


End file.
